Mission Compromised (62 page)

Oh, God, please look after P. J. Keep him safe. And if he's in a place he shouldn't be, keep him from being captured. Help his rescuers to find him and bring him home.

Road to Anah, Iraq

________________________________________

Tuesday, 7 March 1995
1720 Hours, Local

 

Newman was once again in pain from his burns as the truck bumped along the rough road to Anah. It seemed like forever since their last stop and he was eager to get out of the truck. The salve Habib had applied to his burns had helped for a while, but now Newman couldn't sleep for the pain.

Habib sensed his new ward's discomfort and tried to take his mind off of the pain by carrying on a one-sided conversation. He told Newman a long story about how his family had been Christians for at least six generations. His ancestors were from Cyprus, and his family had lived variously in a number of places, depending on the needs of the family businesses. Habib was the current patriarch, and his sons and daughters were reaching the age where they could take over the heavier responsibilities of the businesses.

The one thing that Habib was most proud of was the fact that his children had all become followers of Christ. “God does not have
grandchildren,” he told Newman. “Each of my children had to make their own decision to accept the teachings of Christ and to follow after Jesus. It is a personal decision.” He gave Newman a long look when he said that. He realized Peter was not a Christian, except in a cultural sense—it was merely a traditional label for someone with Peter's background. If Habib could, he intended to change Peter's view, he said. He would talk, not only about his family, but also about his God.

Newman had listened. He thought he would have to pretend to be sleeping in order for the man to stop talking. Still, there was something fascinating about the man's knowledge, as well as his faith. At first Newman thought Habib was a simple, unpretentious man—and that was true, up to a point. Yet Habib was also very wise. Newman figured he must have committed entire books of the Bible to memory because every time Habib needed an illustration for a point he was trying to make, there was a ready soliloquy from the Scriptures.

Newman asked questions—serious questions about God, Christ, and faith—and Habib was never without words. He seemed to understand what Newman wanted to know, and he shared his thoughts simply and humbly. Habib was not an intellectual, but he seemed to have great wisdom. Newman found this to be refreshing. Most people who were infatuated with their own intelligence often turned out to be arrogant and conversant only in narrow, self-serving ways. But Habib seemed genuinely interested in Newman.

Newman found it awkward to discuss his family, because it occurred to him that he had almost nothing in common with Habib's wife and family. His brother was dead, and his sister was a Navy nurse married to a Navy doctor. They were focused on their careers and their children, and had little in common with him. His parents, of an entirely different generation, shared only a common background in the
military. And as for his wife, Rachel … Newman found it hard to talk about her. He realized that, after fifteen years of marriage, he didn't really know his wife. He realized he had never bothered to think about her needs, her ideas, or her plans. The concept that he was basically selfish was something of a revelation—and Newman couldn't get away from this distinctly unpleasant thought.

The way Habib had talked about his wife of more than forty years—especially how they had learned to walk together in faith from the very beginning—he might have been speaking Farsi because Newman didn't understand any of it.
Faith, trust, love, peace
, and
God
were words that were essentially alien to Newman, but they described Habib's day-to-day existence. When Habib said words like “faith,” “trust,” “peace,” “love,” or “God,” he endowed them with a sense that made them seem almost like foreign terms to Newman.

Newman said, “You seem to have different meanings for some words that I learned as a boy—take the word
love
for example. To you it means something much more than affection or devotion for another person. Or
peace
—to you that word apparently means more than simple tranquility.”

Habib nodded. “I understand, for it is as God has said in His Book, ‘I love those who love Me, and those who seek Me diligently will find Me.' Man's love for another can never mean the same thing that God's love means. He is love. God demonstrated His love when He sent His Son, Jesus, to die. We use these words glibly, but they have such a depth of meaning when we think about them in the light of God's grace. Probably to you, my friend, these words have never had the meaning that God has given them, not until now. That is because now His Holy Spirit has come to you, and your soul is seeking meaning—it is seeking God, and if you seek Him diligently, you
will find
Him.”

That sounds pretty simplistic.

As if reading his thoughts, Habib said, “But no doubt even you have noticed:
faith
is a simple word. Even children understand it. You believe in something; you trust that it is true. But this intellectual belief is only an abstract concept until it is acted upon. For example, I say to you, ‘See that chair—go sit on it; it will hold you.' But you are not sure. The legs look weak to you. You do not understand how such a flimsy thing can hold you. But you already know that I sat on the chair, and it held me, so you say, ‘If you say the chair will hold me, I believe you.' That is intellectual belief. But in fact, you really do not believe me. Not until you act upon that belief and put it to the test. You must go to the chair and try it, sit in it. You must find out for yourself that it will support you. Faith is like that. You cannot depend upon another's beliefs to work for you. You must come to God and test faith for yourself. You must make your own decision to walk in His path.”

Newman noticed his pain had eased. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and Habib told him they would be in Anah in another half hour. But during that time, Newman plied his new friend with more questions about faith and the reality of his God. By the time they got to the outskirts of Anah, Newman's thoughts about these elemental issues and ideas concerning God, salvation, and eternity had more clarity than they had ever had before.

They drove into the small city just after dark. There were no streetlights, and only a few business buildings had lights outside. The houses along the streets were ancient, with stone and clay walls and flat roofs. They rode for another ten minutes along an unpaved road until Habib stopped outside a walled compound with heavy, wooden gates, got out of the truck and opened them; and then he drove into a small enclosed yard.

The high walls would make it difficult for outsiders to see inside the compound; that was a comforting thought to Newman.

Someone hurried out to pull the wooden gates shut, and then carefully locked them.

Newman was stiff and sore, and his burns were still rather painful. He climbed out of the truck. In the darkness he couldn't see much.

“May I present my son, Samir, and his wife, Halimah,” Habib said as the man who locked the gates came over to the truck, followed by a woman. “This is Mr. New Man,” he added by way of introduction to his family. Habib turned to Newman. “You never gave me your name, but I saw it on your uniform.”

Newman laughed, “Well, it's Newman—one word—not New Man.”

Habib apologized for the gaffe. “But if you keep seeking God, you can become what the Bible calls ‘a new creature in Christ'… a New Man, Mr. Newman.

“Please, Mr. Newman, won't you come inside?” asked Samir. “It's dark and chilly out here, and we have our evening meal ready. You and Father must be hungry. Come, please.”

They walked inside through a narrow corridor that had a wooden door framed into the old masonry walls. After about twenty feet, they came to another door that led into the small house.

Inside, there was what Newman would call a living room, a place with cushions, a few chairs, and a couple of other mismatched pieces of furniture. From that room, there were passages into other rooms, probably including sleeping quarters, and a kitchen, well-lit with mantled oil lamps. They had electricity, Samir said, but the delivery was spotty at best. Since 1990, they had learned not to depend upon it.

There were enticing smells coming from the kitchen. Newman remembered that he and Habib had not eaten in a long time.

Habib came in, tugging at the sleeve of a woman about his age. “This is my wife, Mr. Newman. Her name is Zahira—her name means ‘intelligent.' She is very smart, Mr. Newman. She speaks four different languages and several dialects, but she does not speak English.”

Newman smiled and bowed slightly in the Middle Eastern custom, and spoke a few words of greeting in Farsi. She smiled broadly and nodded her appreciation. Then Zahira noticed Newman's burned hands and arms, and the blisters on his face. She showed concern and asked her husband about the injuries. Habib explained how he found Newman.

His son, Samir, heard his explanations about the exploding airplane, the parachute, and the fire that had come raining down out of the sky and so he assumed that the American had been burned when his plane blew up. Habib didn't include the details that had to do with the Iraqi helicopters and the other aspects of intrigue.

The two women disappeared for a few moments, returning with a box of medications and first-aid items.

“My wife was a nurse when we married eight years ago,” Samir said. “She says that we must treat you before your injuries become infected. Will you please permit them to help you, Mr. Newman?”

“Of course, and thank them for me. And please… call me by my first name, Peter.”

“Ah-h,” Habib said, his eyes widening, “Peter… like the apostle.”

“Please, can you take off the thobe?” Halimah said. “We need to clean and treat your burns.”

“Yes, thank you. Habib was very kind to me. I think I would have died if he had not rescued me.”

They helped Newman pull the thobe over his head. For about twenty minutes, the two women worked gently to wash and disinfect the seared and blistered skin, applying antiseptic and bandages to the numerous puncture wounds he had received in the helicopter attack. From some of the wounds they pulled small pieces of metallic casings, and from others, bits of dirt and stone. Halimah said, “You have many burns and holes in you, Peter Newman. “I am afraid of infection. Let me see if I have a better antibiotic ointment.” She rummaged in the big medical box and found some. “It's only a month beyond the expiration date. It should be all right. I have several tubes. It should help.”

Halimah went to get a bottle of white vinegar and dabbed some of it onto his burns with a cotton ball. Newman could smell that it was vinegar, and at first he was afraid that it would sting. On the contrary, it was cooling and soothing. “It will keep the skin alive,” Halimah said.

The antibiotic ointment also felt good when it was spread on his skin. “You must be in great pain,” Halimah said. “You are shaking.”

“It hurts pretty bad,” Newman admitted. “Do you have anything for the pain?”

“Only aspirin, I'm afraid. But we will let you eat, and then take some aspirin. The food should help you get some strength back, and the aspirin will take some of the fever away, as well as the pain.”

Habib's wife, Zahira, had prepared food and spread it on a low table in the living room, and the five of them went to eat. Habib took a piece of flat bread and held it up. He closed his eyes and began to pray in Arabic. He concluded his prayer in English: “Loving Father, God,” he began, “we love You and thank You for Your bounty. We thank You for Your protection and blessings. Now we ask for Your help for our
friend, Peter Newman. Please protect him and keep him safe until he can return to his dear wife and family. Bless now, we pray, this food. Amen.”

Newman felt genuinely touched at the man's simple devotion and selfless charity.
He must know the risk that he is taking
, Newman thought. Once again Habib amazed him by reading his thoughts.

“We know that you are in trouble and that you must find a way back to your own people. We are helping you because of Jesus. He is concerned for you. Do not worry about us—we will be all right,” the amiable patriarch said softly.

The meal was eaten leisurely, and Newman felt pleasure in sharing their food. After they ate, Habib told him, “Zahira went to prepare a place for you to sleep, Peter.”

“Thank you for such wonderful hospitality. You have literally saved my life today, and I'll always be grateful to you,” Newman said.

“You sleep, and Samir and I will talk about the best way for you to get back home. We will talk again in the morning. But first, we will pray for your healing.”

Habib stood by the chair where Newman was sitting and placed his hand on Newman's head. His son stood next to him and placed his hands on Newman's shoulders. Each of the women placed a hand on his shoulders. Newman felt a little embarrassed and squirmed a little in the chair. Habib raised one arm toward heaven and began to pray in Arabic, with great passion in his voice. The prayer lasted for more than five minutes, and Newman understood none of it, yet he felt inwardly calmed and touched by their concern. When the prayer was concluded, Habib said simply, “We trust God to heal you.”

Newman nodded and followed Zahira into a small room with a bed and small table. On the table was a large bowl of water and a
nearby pitcher. He thanked her, undressed, blew out the lantern, and all but collapsed onto the bed. He was asleep almost at once.

Home of Samir Yusef

________________________________________

Anah, Iraq
Wednesday, 8 March 1995
0720 Hours, Local

 

Newman awoke the next morning feeling sore but refreshed. He got up gingerly, went into the bathroom next to his bedroom, splashed some water on his face, and looked into the mirror. The redness of his burns had receded and his face simply looked tanned. He looked at his arms and saw they were the same. Only his left hand still had sores where the top layer of skin had been burned off. Otherwise his burns were healing faster than they should be. He wondered what caused this—the vinegar used to clean and sooth the skin, the antibiotic ointment… or the prayer of the patriarch of this humble Christian family. Or, perhaps it was the combination of them all.